Scary Legs
by Rinne
Summary: A granny takes a disliking to Dean. Who knew that grannies could be so strong? Humourangst fic COMPLETE


Title: Scary legs 

Rating: PG-13, some swearing

Genre: Gen

Category: Humour, mainly

Disclaimer: Don't own anything, not being paid.

A/N: Written for the 'cops suck' challenge at foundficspn on LJ. A huge thank you to Cha Oseye Tempest Thrain for reading through parts of this and checking some of my Americanisms and suggesting lines, and a gigantic thank you to starrylizard for reading it as I was writing, suggesting improvements, betaing, and helping me figure out the last section via IM.

Summary: A granny takes a disliking to Dean. Who knew that grannies could be so strong?

* * *

Dean's face was stuck to the floor and his head hurt. The floor was sucking all the heat out of his body, leaving behind a scary nothingness that made him feel like he was going to float off out into space. 

The floor spoke. "Now look what you've done, going and bleeding all over my nice clean floor. Kids today, they just have no respect."

After a few seconds, in which it seemed like the rest of his life was sucked out of him by the heat stealing surface underneath him, he finally determined that it wasn't the floor that spoke. It was the legs that he could just see when he managed to open his eyes. Vein-filled mottled legs mostly hidden underneath a swishing floral skirt or dress of some sort. Scary legs with an old lady voice.

"You know that I had to stand up on the bus the other day? Damn kids all around and not one would offer me a seat."

The scary legs were further away, which was nice. He should use the opportunity to try and move, try to get away, but his body seemed to have hung up on his brain and all he was getting now was an engaged signal.

Suddenly there was something – or someone – grasping his ankles and he was being dragged backwards, his belt catching on something and slowing his momentum.

"You know, you're more trouble then you're worth." The legs tsked in disapproval. He felt hands at his belt and panicked. He didn't want those creepy legs anywhere near him. Unfortunately his panic didn't actually translate into anything helpful like moving or screaming, he just heard his breathing increase in speed and felt that much closer to checking out of the Hotel Scary Legs permanently. His belt was undone, removed and tossed to the side and he was dragged a few feet more, his shirt riding up (and he sure _wanted_ the scary legs seeing his back or stomach), until he was lying on something that felt distinctly like plastic. Which, you know, was just a little worrying.

He tried to ask what she was doing or make some noise, but all that came out was some drool. She'd moved him out of most of the blood but now his face was lying in more bodily fluid. The legs walked past him and picked up the belt; at least, that was what he thought he heard. It wasn't very comforting when they walked back by him again. The legs sounded like the sort that might take it into their mind to tan his hide. The last time that had happened he was seven, and he kinda wanted it to stay that way.

Instead, the belt was passed back under him and around his waist, something was folded around on top of him (and he had a sneaking suspicion it was the plastic), there was a weight on his back and the belt tightened almost uncomfortably. He started to have the feeling that he _really_ was in trouble. It was confirmed the instant that his feet were lifted off the floor and he was pulled backwards again. He was so so screwed.

Half a minute later, his legs were abruptly dropped and the floor stopped sliding by him. The legs were puffing.

"Damn, you're heavy. The heaviest, by far."

That statement sent him into a full-blown freak out. She'd done this before and gotten away with it. His head was pounding, more drool poured out of his mouth and his hand twitched. He felt like singing the _Hallelujah Chorus_ when the small movement occurred, but then, reality hit again. All it would mean would be that he'd be able to vainly grab at the plastic while she dragged him further to his doom.

"Right, enough of a break. No laziness in this house, no siree, nothing but hard work."

His legs were lifted again and he slid further along the floor until his upper legs hit open air. Then there were painful thumps as he was pulled down three brick steps. His chin, nose, forehead and chest hit hard on each step, knocking the air out of him and leaving his vision hazy and his head aching when his body reached solid ground.

He tried to breathe, grateful that the legs seemed to have run out of energy again. After a couple of attempts at taking a breath he could finally suck in the air he needed. At least she hadn't sealed the plastic at either end and turned him into a Dean present.

"Time for a cup of tea, I think," the legs decided and Dean suddenly remembered drinking tea. The evil legs must have spiked it with something. Next time he wouldn't drink the tea. The legs passed by him, walked up the stairs and re-entered the house, leaving him alone. He took the opportunity to try and move. Even if he couldn't walk, maybe he could log roll away or inch along like a worm.

He concentrated on his hand and, yep, it moved again, more then it had previously. He closed his eyes briefly, took a few deep breaths and flung his body to the side, trying to roll over. The ground rocked beneath him, but he didn't have enough momentum to even get on his side. His entire body hurt as he reached equilibrium back on his front. It was so tempting to just give up, he was so exhausted, but the threat of death by scary legs overrode it.

Dean jerked his body to the side again and this time the momentum was enough. He ended up flat on his back and heading over to his other side, but then something stopped him and pushed him back, his head hitting the ground hard. He looked up at the owner of the scary legs.

Other then for the fact that the woman was obviously trying to kill him, he'd have thought that she was a nice little old lady from looking at her. She was wearing a flowery skirt and a white blouse, her grey hair was pulled into a bun and there were a lot of smile lines in amongst the wrinkles.

Craziness came in all sorts of nice, innocent looking packages.

She tutted at him. "Well, looks like I better take care of you before I drink my tea. What a waste of electricity."

Dean almost thought that being dragged along on his back was worse then being dragged on his front. For one thing, he was getting a little bit of vertigo from watching the sky move, and for another, he could see the creepy old woman dragging him to his doom.

After three more breathers for the old lady, they were at their destination. Time for Dean Winchester to get off. The air was knocked out of his body again when he landed in a hole. A person sized hole.

Now, it hadn't been an unreasonable expectation when the lady wrapped him in plastic and started dragging him out the door that this would be where he'd end up, but he'd kind of hoped that he'd be proven wrong. This was not how he wanted to go out: skeletonifying in some woman's backyard until she keeled over and died and a young family moved in with a rover who enjoyed digging, and bits of Dean were dug up and chewed upon until Mom or Dad became suspicious, dug up more of their yard, found him and called the police. Of course, Henricksen would probably get a good laugh out of it all.

Then the crazy old bat picked up a shovel and started tossing dirt over his legs. It splattered on the plastic, sounding like rain hitting the roof of the Impala. While that was a comforting noise, this wasn't. He tried squirming side to side, but his body seemed to have given up the ghost, and it was looking like he'd be one soon. He hoped that he'd haunt the bitch's ass and push her down the stairs or something. Maybe he'd be able to lead Sammy to his body when Sam investigated the pissed off ghost that was murdering little old ladies.

The weight of the dirt quickly started pressing down on his legs, causing him to panic further. He'd never been buried in sand at the beach before, but this was starting to make him think that whoever allowed people to do that to them were insane. His head was starting to whirl, there was a roaring in his ears and his vision was filled with blue spots.

The instant that dirt hit the plastic above his face he passed out.

* * *

Joe didn't think he'd ever received a weirder call. A woman reported suspicious activity at her neighbour's house. The sixty-five year old neighbour had dug a very large hole in her backyard and started dragging something very large and wrapped in plastic out to it.

And so, Joe came to be in the predicament of pointing his gun at a woman, old enough to be his mother, who was standing, armed with a shovel, over what looked like a body wrapped in plastic. She raised the shovel higher in the air and Joe yelled again.

"Put the shovel down now and step away from the hole!"

When it started plunging down towards the partially buried object in the hole he had no choice. It could be a body, it could be nothing, or it could be a person who was still alive and about to be bisected.

The woman's body fell and the shovel clattered to the ground.

"Kelly." Joe gestured towards the old lady and his partner nodded. She'd check to see whether the woman was still alive while he checked on what she was burying. Joe hurried over to the hole and looked down into it. "Shit, she was burying a man." While not happy to have just shot someone, Joe was relieved that he hadn't shot her for just burying her garbage. He clambered down into the hole beside the man and quickly brushed the dirt off the plastic over his face. He'd taken quite a beating by the looks of it. There were some water droplets on the inside of the plastic above the man's mouth and nose and the plastic fogged up slightly as Joe looked at it. He quickly ripped the plastic open and held his hand over the man's nose, feeling a breath.

"He's alive!"

* * *

"Sam."

Dean's voice was rough and the eyes that looked at Sam weren't very focussed.

"Hey," Sam said, putting his book down and leaning forward in his chair. "Welcome back."

"Where did I go?"

Sam chuckled slightly. "Off to grandma's house, except it turned out that grandma was the wolf."

"Huh?" Dean tried to pull himself up in the hospital bed and winced in pain.

"Ribs?" Sam said sympathetically.

"Yeah." Dean nodded, then held a hand up to his head. "And head." He sunk back against the pillows. "What happened?"

"You went to talk to Mrs Linderman about the people that had gone missing in the area. Turns out she was the one responsible, wanted to turn you into number five."

"Huh. I think… I remember scary legs. Scary legs that talked." Dean's face scrunched up slightly as he tried to remember, making the bruises stand out more.

"Okay. I think you're still a little loopy from whatever she gave you. The doctors said it'll be a while before it works its way out of your system."

"She drugged me?" Sam was sure that Dean meant to sound incredulous, but he just sounded tired instead.

"Yeah. Then she tried to…" Sam trailed off. With all that had happened to them, he'd almost expected that nothing could scare him anymore. But, when he'd called Dean's cell and gotten the police he'd been terrified. At first he'd thought that Dean had been arrested and he'd almost hung up. Finding out that someone had tried to bury his brother alive had nearly floored him. He couldn't imagine how Dean had felt.

"She tried to bury me," Dean said quietly, "didn't she."

"You remember?" Sam had really hoped that he had been out of it. The cops had said that he'd been unconscious when they found him, but knowing that he'd gone through it… His stomach churned uncomfortably at the thought.

"Sort of." Dean picked absently at the blanket. "I can remember a weight on my legs and it was hard to breathe."

Dean looked towards the door of the room and Sam tried to not throw up.

"It's okay, Sam," Dean said, smiling slightly, his eyes dipping shut. "You found me, so it's all okay."

Sam shook his head and pursed his lips together. "I didn't, Dean; the cops did. You're lucky to be alive."

"Guess I can't say cops suck anymore," Dean muttered sleepily. "Well, at least not all of them."

Sam stayed hunched forward, his elbows resting on his knees, watching Dean sleep.

* * *

"Dean, we don't know that it was the psychopathic old lady."

"Really? What, 'no respect' written over every wall isn't a dead give away?" Dean stood belligerently in front of Sam. "People waking up wrapped in plastic? Mysterious holes in the backyard?"

"It does sound like her," Sam reluctantly agreed, looking across at the innocent seeming house. "But, we really should look into the history of the place, check the house over."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Right, you can do that, Sam. And when you wake up buried in the yard I'll say I told you so." He started walking back to the Impala.

"Dean," Sam called, giving in. "Fine, just wait up." He hurried over to the car and seated himself just as Dean turned the engine on.

"Right, lets go torch the old bitch's ass."

* * *

"Respect that, you bitch!" Dean's expression was more triumphant than was warranted, seeing as the ghost of the old woman hadn't bothered them in the slightest.

"Dean, I think she's gone."

Dean kicked some dirt back into the grave. "I'm just showing proper respect for the psychopathic undead, Sam."

Sam snorted. "She's gone, get over it."

"Just lemme enjoy the moment, Sam." Dean held up a hand, requesting that Sam keep silent. They stood for a few moments, Dean stock still and Sam kicking at a tuft of grass. Then Dean giggled and Sam lost it. When they finally regained control of themselves, they picked up the shovels and made their way back to the Impala.

Dean rested his arms on the roof. "I want some pie."

Sam shook his head. "Dean, you always want pie."


End file.
